The Spellthief
by Revicious
Summary: Desperate to hide his grim past and dark addiction, Asher Lancien constantly sticks to the precarious edges of society and shies away even from fellow guild members. But a certain Dragon Slayer is determined to make things change and consequently, Lucy's fate also interweaves with the dangerous Spellthief's, leading the odd trio down a perilous road of friendship, love and pain.
1. First Impressions

**A/N:**

**This story will eventually contain homosexual and heterosexual themes. If either aren't your cup of tea, feel free to browse a different story. Reviews, follows and favorites are greatly appreciated and cheers me into writing more.  
><strong>

**Please enjoy reading.**

**Main Pairing: NatsuxOCxLucy**

* * *

><p><span><strong>First Impressions<strong>

_Spell – a set of words or sort of demand, spoken or unspoken, meant to invoke some magical effect._

_Thief – someone who takes another person's possession without his or her consent and with the intent to deprive its rightful owner of it._

_Spellthief – a thief of magic. A forbidden title. Ancient Magic._

**Lucy**

There was a collision of two trays of food followed by two simultaneous, equally exasperated growls. Lucy rolled her eyes even before she heard Gray's annoyed voice shout:

"Oi! Watch where you're going, numb-skull!"

"Don't blame this on me, you droopy-eyed idiot! Why'd ya just spin around like that?"

_Here we go again, _thought Lucy as Gray and Natsu began fighting, their loud, undignified insults quickly blending into a joint, ambient noise. She heaved a sigh and stretched out over the bar counter she was seated by, face aimed downwards. Abruptly, she realized how fast she had become immune and well-too accustomed to the two's frequent bickering. She could practically foresee them ten minutes in advance by now and plan their occurrences thenceforth.

"Ugh," Lucy breathed against the smooth, polished wooden counter and rubbed the nape of her neck. She mercifully allowed her eyelids to slid shut and hoped to unwind her tense muscles with some massage. Faintly, she felt the air split above her, a soft breeze pushing down lightly on her exposed shoulders, and guessed that a poor chair had been thrown across the guild hall. Her suspicions were soon confirmed when she heard wood ungracefully slam into wood and attract another angry pair of voices into the quarrel.

_I can't believe how those two still have enough energy to fight after all that, _she dryly commented. Lucy hadn't slept all too good that night, or at least not according to her body, and she surmised that she was yet suffering from the aftermath of what had happened at the Tower of Heaven and the guild war against Phantom Lord. That clearly wasn't the case with her teammates and she was both annoyed and relieved with the prospect that she was weaker than them. Obviously, her own weakness was something of an eyesore, but now she knew that she could at least trust the guys and Erza when the situation called for it. Speaking of Erza...

"Where's Erza when you need her?" Lucy muttered as the volume from the brawl increased. The number of fighters had most likely increased from the original two.

"Is everything alright, Lucy?"

Lucy hastily raised her chin and stiffly nodded. "Uh, yeah," she answered and mustered a weak smile. "I'm fine. Thank you, Mirajane."

The white-haired woman gave Lucy a warm, genuine smile in reply. "You'd think Natsu and Gray would run out of reasons to argue sometime."

"My wish," grumbled Lucy in dismay, although she couldn't stop herself from grinning. Even though the Ice-Make Mage and the Fire Dragon Slayer fought over the most juvenile of things, she had eventually come to realize that it was their way of brotherly bonding.

Lucy glanced over her shoulder, a smile yet lingering on her lips, but she immediately shrieked and ducked as a plate flew her way. The dirty dish hit the wall with a clatter and smashed into a dozen pieces that scattered as they fell to the floorboards. A half-eaten, now mashed potato stuck stubbornly to the wall and Mirajane, patiently and ever smiling, began cleaning up the artwork with a clean towel that she acquired from beneath a counter.

"Hey!" Lucy roared over the commotion and stomped her right foot into the floor, her hands curling into small, angry fists at her sides. "I'm trying to relax here!"

"Indeed," agreed Cana from the other side of the spacious hall, a large wine cask cradled in her arms as if it were her dearest and most prized possession. "Hard to do with all this noise."

"Are you already getting drunk?" exclaimed Lucy and resisted the urge to slap herself in the forehead. "Don't you have any self-restraints?" she added, a little quieter of course, and mostly for herself. "It's barely midday."

"I heard that!"

Lucy blushed in embarrassment but before she could make amends, Natsu's voice pierced through the chaos.

"Wait, is it already twelve o'clock?"

"Yeah, how so?" Lucy asked bemusedly, her brows arching. Her brown eyes quickly scanned the messy hall until they found Natsu's dark orbs. They glittered with unadulterated excitement, something that instantly piqued her curiosity. He opened his mouth to speak but was brutally silenced as Gray took the opportunity to punch Natsu straight across the jaw.

"Don't go looking the other way in a fight, you cocky bastard," Gray triumphantly proclaimed as he smirked. As per usual, he sported nothing more than a set of hard abs and a pair of boxer shorts. He wasn't even wearing shoes.

"It's manly to look the other way!" Elfman decided and charged for the Ice-Make Mage who deftly sidestepped the much bulkier man's advance and launched a counterattack.

Natsu stumbled a couple of awkward steps in the direction of Gray's powerful strike but other than that, he didn't seem even the slightest fazed by the harsh collision of his face and Gray's hardened knuckles. The pink-haired mage simply straightened and found Lucy's gaze again, sending her a broad, mischievous grin. Lucy, on the other hand, could feel the force of the hit even as a mere observant and grimaced: were all the males in Fairy Tail nothing more than over-buffed morons?

"Master said Asher'd be back by today at midday!" Natsu cheerfully said and clamped his fists together, igniting an aura of fire around him. Something sinister yet playful glinted in his intense, dark eyes as he went on, "And when he comes, I'll beat his sorry ass and finally be able to prove to everyone that I'm an S-class Mage! Gah, I'm so fired up!"

_Asher?_

Natsu dove back into the fray without further ado. Lucy asked herself if she had heard the name before, but it sounded unfamiliar even as she whispered it aloud, albeit under her breath. It was an odd name and not very usual in Fiore; she wouldn't have been able to simply forget it, especially not if it belonged to an S-class Wizard of Fairy Tail.

_Hmm, _she pondered as she placed a manicured finger against her chin. _Natsu is really strong. Maybe..._

Her thoughtful expression was quickly replaced with a depressed look of resignation as she remembered Galuna Island and the S-class Quest that had brought her there. The assignment would have been impossible to complete without Erza's reluctant assistance, even though both Natsu and Gray had been there. A shiver ran down Lucy's spine as she tried to imagine how things would have progressed without one of Fairy Tail's best mages—not too well, she was ascertain.

Lucy shook her head and exhaled. _No_, she told herself as she watched Natsu fling Gray over his shoulder and wrestle with him on the ground. Both grunted with pain and exertion. _Even though he's powerful—he took that hit without even blinking!—he won't be able to beat an S-class Mage. No matter who this "Asher" guy is. And considering how scary and crazy strong Erza is, I bet Asher is just as monstrously terrifying. _

The vague, tiny silhouette of a person gradually grew larger as it slowly approached the wide open doorway. At first, Lucy took no special note of the figure, the blurry presence merely apparent in her peripheral vision, but as Natsu suddenly froze mid-swing, sniffed the air and turned towards the entrance of Fairy Tail's recently renovated guild house, Lucy followed her rowdy, pink-haired friend's line of sight and focused on the nearing stranger as well. To her surprise, the rest of the guild members ceased their quarreling and even Cana lazily turned to face the door. The atmosphere was quivering with eager anticipation and for the first time since Lucy's initial arrival, Fairy Tail plunged into a rare and gravely uncharacteristic state of quietude and calm.

_They're all waiting, _noted Lucy in anxiousness. _How horrifying can Asher be?_

Her imagination conjured up at least a thousand different faces, personalities and magic types, molding this unknown S-class Mage into everything from a man of cryptic personage—such as Mystogan—to someone as eccentric and ferocious as Erza, until she was brought out of her brooding by Natsu's enthusiastic tone.

"He's here."

When the person finally arrived, he appeared an extremely slim, almost gaunt man of average height with a silvery crown of short, disheveled hair that embraced his skull. His long, fragile legs were wrapped in black, fitted jeans and his sure to be even scrawnier torso looked like it was being swallowed by a beige, oversized cardigan with sleeves far too extended for fashion. Beneath his cardigan, he wore a very wrinkly, crispy white button shirt with a burgundy necktie fastened loosely around his thin neck. His feet were adorned by a simple pair of black, well-worn combat boots.

Everything about him was narrow, flat and dangerously undernourished. Lucy couldn't spot his guild tattoo no matter how hard she searched and reckoned it was hiding somewhere beneath his clothes. With his pale, unmarred complexion and sharp, boyish features, the newcomer looked younger even than her meager seventeen years, although Lucy was quick to assume he probably was of the same age.

As she finished with the survey of the man, her eyes widened in shock and she shuddered involuntarily. Lucy knew that she would never be able to forget the impression she received from Asher's mere appearance. And that wasn't solely because he looked and felt so... _weak_, both physically and judging by his magical aura, but primarily due to his strange, unnatural eyes.

She had never met someone with one eye so purely cerulean, and one eye so crimson it reminded her of blood.

The male halted just at the threshold of the guild and craned his neck to look upwards. Lucy perceived a low mutter from his throat before he lowered his gaze again. The dark crescents beneath his large eyes and the deep hollows in his cheeks made him look haggard and thoroughly exhausted although Lucy guessed it only was an effect of the man's severe skinniness.

The stranger strolled leisurely into the guild's main hall with his hands buried deep within his pockets and his odd pair of eyes continuously scanning his environment. He emitted an emotionless aura of serenity and maneuvered himself with an air of gracefulness, something that matched somewhat poorly with his thin, gangly arms and legs. And not too surprisingly, Natsu decided to stop the silver-haired guy halfway to the bar.

"Fight me, Ash," the Fire Dragon Slayer uttered in a, none too surprising, challenging tone. "Come on, I'll let you strike first."

Chapped, thin lips lined above a pointy chin tugged into a displeased frown. "No," the silver-haired male replied flatly and dismissed Natsu with a hand cloaked in fabric. "Where's Master?"

Lucy let out a breath of relief as Asher strode past the Fire Dragon Slayer, aiming his steps towards the staircase leading up. Even though the former was noticeably taller, she could barely hint a muscle on the stranger. Meanwhile, her loud friend brawled every other day and weighed at least twenty-five pounds more. Lucy was ascertain Asher would snap like a twig in a fight with the pink-haired madman and she did definitely _not_ want to see such a gruesome spectacle.

"Come on!" taunted Natsu with a wide grin. "I'll show you how much stronger I've gotten since last we fought! I'm probably even strong enough to take you down!"

"Where's Happy?" wondered the silver-haired mage abruptly over his right shoulder, his voice remaining monotonous.

"Gone fishing," grunted the Fire Dragon Slayer and averted his gaze. Lucy giggled; she _knew_ they had argued about something that morning.

Asher said nothing more but continued walking. Frustrated with the lack of response, Natsu balled his hands into fiery fists and lunged towards the S-Class Mage's back with a fierce roar and a lop-sided grin.

"Guess I'll punch you first then!"

"Don't!"

Lucy hadn't even realized the word came from her throat until it rang in her ears. But it mattered little; before Lucy had been able to shout at Natsu to abstain from harming the awfully delicate-looking, silver-haired wizard, the Fire Dragon Slayer's flames, a fire so hot it could burn anything, were extinguished without a sound. Natsu didn't seem to notice but continued his advance, raising his right fist in level with Asher's chin. Lucy feared to look, dreading that the worst would happen, and simply closed her eyes as she awaited the sound of a crunching jaw... only, it never occurred.

Peeling open her eyelids, Lucy saw Asher continue towards the stairs and Natsu lay sprawled across the floor with his eyes glazed over. The resemblance of a boot's heel was deeply imprinted into his left cheek and looked so comical, it brought a laughed out of her.

_He might not be as scary-looking as Erza, _Lucy thought with a smile as she watched Natsu regain consciousness and gingerly rub his cheek, _but he sure is strong._

"Got what you were looking for?" she teased Natsu. "You won't be able to beat an S-Class Mage with nothing but your fists, you moron. What happened to your flames? Ran out of fuel?"

To her surprise, Natsu seemed deep in thought. His dark eyes carried an uncharacteristic glimmer of distress and he looked down at his hands as he rose.

"Yeah," he murmured, furrowing his brows. "Something like that."


	2. Hazardous

**Hazardous**

_Addiction – a state characterized by either compulsive drug use or compulsive engagement in rewarding behavior, despite adverse consequences._

_Addict – a person psychologically dependent on something or someone else._

**Asher**

Twice he looked about and perked his ears, anxiously checking if someone had decided to follow him upstairs and head into the same sparsely decorated, unfamiliar hallway he now occupied. Below, the silence brought by his arrival eventually dissipated and allowed for a casual, ambient atmosphere of small talk and friendly jests to resume.

_Good._

The malnourished, silver-haired mage let out a relieved sigh that abruptly turned into a choke as a sharp, scorching pain shot through his torso. Now ascertain that he was completely alone and out of sight, Asher Lancien finally permitted himself to remove his masquerade.

He slouched against the wall and raised a hand to brace himself. _Damn, _he thought, his hollow, angular features contorting with discomfort, _I really should _not_ have attempted that. _

His bony frame trembled with effort and he only managed one more step, leaning on the yellow wall for support, before his quivering knees buckled beneath him. Asher clawed after something to hold onto but his sleeve-draped hands simply skidded over the smooth wallpaper, unobstructed, and he involuntarily sank to his fours. His heart pounded so hard that he could feel it slam against the inner side of his ribcage and his breath grew rapid, as if the air around him no longer sufficed for his respiratory organs. An ominous darkness crept into the edges of his vision and Asher knew that he had no time to spare.

Jaws clenched, the silver-haired wizard stiffly straightened from his hunched position and crawled to sit against one of the hallway walls with a grunt. His pulse throbbed so loud he feared his skull would burst and every muscle in his body tensed in anguish. Asher rolled up his cardigan sleeves and shakily managed to fish up a tiny metal lighter and a squashed package of cheap cigarettes from his jeans pockets. He impatiently lighted one end of a tobacco-filled roll of paper even before he tucked it between his lips, and unceremoniously inhaled the first cloud of smoke without a pause. He drew a relieved, second breath and the darkness that had almost completely enveloped his sight started fading away, the internal pain subsiding similarly.

Asher's heavy eyelids drooped shut and he sucked in the toxic fumes once more, his cheeks hollowing with the forceful action. The smothering feeling of fume slithering down his windpipe usually made him grimace in disgust but for once, he was happy to be smoking. The characteristic scent of burnt tobacco wafted through the air and his body instinctively relaxed as the familiar rush of nicotine infiltrated his blood. Even though Asher deep down loathed this particular drug due to the threat it posed others beyond its main user, thus confining him to only ever smoking outdoors and at a safe distance from others, he had to make an exception this time. He had been only a hair's breadth from losing total control.

_Too close_. Asher's head slumped back against the thin wallpaper and Asher folded a leg towards his chest. He gently balanced the white cigarette between his teeth as he rubbed his cold hands together, the sensation of soft fabric rubbing against similar cloth soothing his racing heart. _I really shouldn't put myself through this, _he thought while checking his pulse. It was slowing down, fortunately. _It's dangerous both for me and the guild. The best choice would be to simply stay away from everyone._

_Or finally just end it all._

"Yo, boy."

Asher opened his left eye. "Master," he acknowledged with a slight nod as he instantly lowered his fingers from his neck and pocketed the lighter and the remaining cigarettes. "It's been a while."

Even when partially sprawled on the floor, the considerably younger wizard had to level his gaze to meet the elder's. The latter's visage was carved with a couple more creases than Asher remembered but the flow of time had otherwise done nothing to subdue Master Makarov's wild persona or the ever-present glint of raw humor in his black, observant eyes. The guild master's broad, anticipatory smile gave the silver-haired mage a bad conscience—he had brought no pleasant news to either of them. In fact, things were looking worse than ever.

"You staying for long?" inquired Makarov in a friendly voice. "The Magnolia Harvest is just about the corner as well as the Miss Fairy Tail-competition. Won't you stay at least for the weekend?"

Asher shook his head, lifting the cigarette to his lips. Neither interested him.

"I apologize for the altercation below," Asher said as Master Makarov remained quiet. Waiting, most likely, for him to leave his report. But before Asher revealed the depressing results of his latest search, he wanted to know about what was happening in the guild. He very rarely visited the Fairy Tail-guild house and the few times he did always consisted of brief stays; he never had the opportunity to find out everything going about the eccentric guild himself. Though he had no real reason as to why he wanted to hear the common gossip, he felt an inexplicable urge to know that his guild, however distant during his journeys, was doing alright in all its comparably more mundane problems. "Dragneel attacked me and... the rest is rather self-explanatory."

"Don't you brood over it," replied the elderly man with a chuckle, obviously content with how Asher had acted. The silver-haired mage, on the other hand, was not as pleased. "He needs some good punching now and then."

Asher raked a hand through his tresses, his palm sliding over a sweaty forehead. His other eyelid peeled open and he looked about. "Nice decorations," he noted, casually gesturing towards his surroundings with the hand holding the cigarette. "I could barely recognize the place. How did you even afford all of this?"

"Insurance money," answered Makarov as he smugly twirled his white, bushy mustache. "And using some guild members' hard-earned savings. The former guild house was blasted up by Phantom Lord, so we had to build a new one."

Asher arched his pale eyebrows while tapping the rapidly deteriorating cigarette with his index finger. Gray crumbles skimmed to the floor and the noxious roll of paper halved in length. "You sound awfully cheerful about that."

Master Makarov shrugged. "We beat them to pulps as payback," he explained nonchalantly.

"Sounds fun," muttered Asher. He put his cigarette to his lips and turned his face to the side as he exhaled the smoke. "Sorry I couldn't make it there," he added, this time in a genuine tone. "I heard they really roughed us up. Especially that trio."

"Yes," growled Makarov sinisterly, his earlier glee as washed away as if it had never been there. Two vertical lines formed between his furrowing white brows and he balled his wrinkly hands into tight fists. "And although I'll never forget what he did to them, I must have the bigger heart and be able to forgive him."

With his right hand still buried deep beneath his silver locks, Asher clenched a tuft of hair. He brought the cigarette to his mouth and murmured, "The same guy and another person joined Fairy Tail, didn't they?"

"Oh, so you already know? Rumors spread quicker than the wind, I guess." Master Makarov's features smoothened and a friendly smile returned to his thin lips. "Gajeel Redfox, the Iron Dragon Slayer, and Juvia Lockser, a former member of the now disbanded Element Four, are now officially Fairy Tail Mages. They're very powerful; both were deemed S-Class Mages within Phantom Lord."

"Redfox and Lockser..." Asher slowly rose to his feet, supporting his swaying shape with a hand to the wall. "Why did you let them?" he wondered flatly.

"Everyone deserves a second chance, don't you agree?"

Asher hobbled to the nearest window, forced it open and tossed out the remaining bit of the despicable cigarette. "Perhaps," he replied as he returned to the extremely short man. "Do you trust them?"

Master Makarov nodded once. "Without a doubt, yes."

Asher considered the guild master for a long time before shrugging. "Very well," he concluded, having decided to leave the subject be. Although the Master's features revealed nothing but honesty, Asher had a feeling the elderly man was hiding something important regarding the former hostile mages. "Any other names I need to remember except those two?"

"Lucy Heartfilia," stated Makarov. "She, too, joined recently. A Celestial Sprit Mage with half of all the Gold Keys..." His voice lowered into an incomprehensible mutter as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. Before Asher had the chance to ask him as to why, the Master snapped back to attention, asking, "Did you know Loke was a Celestial Spirit?"

Asher averted his gaze. "Yes," he admitted. "But since he obviously didn't want the guild to know, I decided to refrain from telling anyone myself."

"Reasonable."

The short man made a long pause. Asher patiently waited, knowing what was to come. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood and burrowed his hands into his pockets, waiting.

"So," Master Makarov finally spoke, clasping his hands behind him. "How did your quest go? Did any of it turn out to be true?"

The bitterness of failure flattened Asher's lips into a long, harsh line and seeped into his reply. "No," he curtly responded. "The ruins were completely desolated but a band of brigands and gravediggers. I didn't sense even the slightest source of magic from the area, no matter how thoroughly I checked."

The Master's grew morose. "That's unfortunate," he mumbled. "Do you have any other leads?"

Asher gave Makarov a rigid look. "A couple," he lied as he started towards the staircase. "I oughta be going. Time is imperative for my... _quest_."

_Yes, "quest" sounds better_, decided Asher inwardly. _More… joyful, rather than the desperate search it actually is._

"Are you still in control?"

Master Makarov's words caused him to freeze. Asher glanced over his shoulder, his eyes rounding with surprise. "Excuse me?" he demanded.

"Your hands," answered the guild master in a grave tone. His gaze was stern but also filled with concern. "If you're covering even your fingers with bandages... Are you still in control?"

Asher quickly pulled his sleeves over his hands, then dug them into his pockets. His lips had curled at the repeated phrase and he turned to face forward again.

"Of course," he muttered.

"You know," began Master Makarov, causing the silver-haired mage to halt yet again. "You don't have to keep all your troubles to yourself. You have friends here and albeit not by blood, we're still your family. We'd all go out of our ways and do anything to help you in any way possible... you only need to speak the words. Don't be afraid to ask other people, Asher."

"I'm not afraid of asking any of you," disagreed Asher sternly. He regarded the ceiling without much interest, his bored eyes tracing the pattern of the wooden planks. "It's just that I know the answer already. Why bother?"

"Asher," warned Makarov.

The young mage didn't react even in the slightest since both conversationalists knew his assumption was correct. Nobody in the guild could help him with his... _condition_. "They know about my… _problem_, don't they? Why would they want to help me when they know about the risk of my company and the futileness of my cause?"

"I haven't told them the details."

Asher frowned. "Why not? They should do best to know I'm—"

He caught himself, shocked. He had almost said it out loud.

"There must be a way," protested Master Makarov. "There always is. You cannot be the only one with this case in the whole history of man! Surely _someone _must have shared the same… the same _problem_ and found a solution. Someone—"

"Was that all, Master?"

Asher felt the guild master's glare scrutinize him for almost a minute. Then, most likely deciding it wasn't worth his time, Makarov heaved a loud sigh, and snorted. "Fine," he grunted. "You may leave."

_I'm getting sloppy_, Asher thought as he paced away from the Master and descended the flight of stairs, the balls of his feet only barely touching every other step. _He'll only grow more worried from now on. And he'll most likely spread his concerns to the rest._

When he reached the ground floor, his mind changed direction. _But what could I have done differently? What could I have said to make him stop caring? I told him the truth. Shouldn't that be enough? People would only get hurt trying to help me—he knows that. They're all better off without my presence._

_They always have._

Asher returned Mirajane's sweet-voiced goodbye with a lazy wave and started to meander through a disastrous array of overturned tables and chairs to reach the main entrance and exit of the edifice. Some guild members merely threw quick glances at him, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement, while others kept their gaze locked to his every movement, wary due to the secretive nature of his infrequent visits. He didn't blame them and had gotten used to the looks ever since he first joined Fairy Tail.

"Asher!"

Asher groaned inwardly. He had forgotten all about Natsu Dragneel.

"What is—" he began before his instincts told him to step to the side. Obeying the notion, he narrowly avoided a swipe from behind. An unmistakable, fire-coated fist pierced through the air to his left and Asher deadpanned as Natsu drew back his arm to punch him again.

"Come _on_!" shouted Natsu with a gleeful grin. "Fight me, Asher! I'm ready!"

"No," answered the silver-haired mage solemnly as he sidestepped another attack, answering all three of Natsu's loud requests. "I'm in a hurry, so could you—"

Asher was cut off as Natsu's knuckles brushed his cheek. He was able to dodge the rest of the strike but immediately realized how close he'd been to be hit.

And so did Natsu.

With renewed determination and a broadening smile, the pink-haired mage launched a swift flurry of fiery fists towards Asher who kept ducking, sidestepping and backing towards the massive doorway. His attention on high-alert, Asher maneuvered carefully through his chaotic environment while avoiding getting struck. His brain sought desperately after a way to stop the Fire Dragon Slayer, preferably one that wouldn't revolve around using magic, but he kept coming up empty-handed.

Darkness crept into the edges of his vision and his heart lurched.

"Dragneel," Asher tried, even though he knew how futile his plead would be. "Stop this nonsense."

"Uh-uh," responded the pink-haired male reluctantly. "I'm just getting started!"

"Dragneel," restated Asher in a harsher tone. His pulse grew quicker as did his breath. "I'm going to miss my appointment," he lied.

"Since when did you arrive in time for anything?" taunted the Fire Dragon Slayer jeeringly.

Asher fought back the urge to roll his eyes. _Stay calm, _he told himself, feeling a throbbing sensation reverberate through his head. To Natsu he voiced, "Since _now_. Go fight Scarlet instead. She's always been more than happy to slam some sense into you."

"She ain't available," Natsu said, emphasizing the middle word as per his usual, stubborn tone. "And you're never here anyways. This is my only chance to prove I can defeat you!"

Natsu aimed a high roundhouse kick at Asher, a stream of fire following its wide motion. Asher leaned back, his hands still sheathed in his pockets, then straightened with a rare scowl now etched to his angular features.

"I'm _not_ in the mood to be playing with you, Dragneel!" hissed Asher, his voice and patience both cracking towards the end of the sentence.

The atmosphere sparked with crimson energy. Asher regretted his outburst as soon as he had opened his mouth and cursed under his breath—it was not like him to raise his voice and lose composure, especially not in front of his guild comrades.

_I've stayed for too long_, he thought bitterly as took a deep breath. _And it's gotten too dangerous for me to visit; I shouldn't return. Or at least not until I've found another Artifact. _

Natsu had stopped mid-swing, his eyes bulging in bafflement and his jaw slackening. Their audience, whom had tried to observe their fight as discreetly as possible, had adopted a similar reaction. Everyone went dead silent, reluctant even to breathe.

Asher wanted to say something, apologize maybe, but didn't find the right words to do so. He considered telling everyone the horrific truth about his condition and, for once, obey what the Master always told him.

Ask for help.

But, a twinge stung his heart. He already knew the answer they would give him, hadn't he said so himself? Nobody, at least not yet, had the possibility to really help him. And so, Asher decided to not mention any of it.

"Leave me be," he said quietly as he slipped towards the exit. _Since, _he silently added, _I will cause you nothing but misery._

_But what else can you expect from an addictive freak?_


	3. Repercussions

**Repercussions**

_Withdrawal – removal; stopping; cancellation; retraction; retirement; departure; etc.  
><em>

_Symptom – any sensation or change in bodily function that is experienced by the affected, all of which are often associated with a particular disease._

_Withdrawal symptoms – any physical or psychological disturbances experienced by a drug addict when deprived of the drug._

**Asher**

A soothing evening breeze gently caressed his cool countenance. It was an invisible touch, a brush from incorporeal, imaginary fingers, but the soft current of warm air felt just as tender and caring to Asher's cheeks as a mother's loving stroke. Then, the wind playfully ruffled his hair, as if to remind him that it was merely his traveling companion. Nothing more.

_There you go_, Asher thought to himself as he ambled down the cobblestone. _Just relax. Feel the world around you. You do belong here._

The wind greeted the silver-haired mage with new sensations, a disarray of smells and sounds rising from... whatever the name of the city was that he currently was passing through on his way south. In his endeavor to find a suitable local inn—preferably a somewhat dubious establishment away from any prying hosts or servants, where payment would suffice in quenching unwanted attention—Asher casually roamed the obscurely lit streets with his hands burrowed deep into his pockets. Entering the shadier, older part of town, his eyes continued to scan his environment with little to no interest. And after half an hour, there were still no signs of a tavern.

The muscles around his jaw gradually tensed. As stars began one by one to lit the twilight glow of the endless sky, Asher started to grow anxious. He was not particularly fond of his current surroundings, especially considering which time of the day it was. The dark, stone-paved streets that he ventured through were barely distinguishable beneath all the filth, soot and grime. Dilapidated old houses bordered the narrow alleys, barely allowing him to squeeze through, and the smell of urine, alcohol and decay strongly permeated the air. It almost hurt to breathe.

In the maze that was the large city's poor neighborhood, Asher knew neither where to go nor return. People that he had absolutely intentions as to ask for directions threw curious glances at him when he passed, their mouths immediately plotting schemes. Asher meandered through a slightly more crowded area—he guessed it was a market of some sort—and took caution to avoid bumping into anyone or anything. He regretted not having grabbed a jacket with a hood back at his rarely visited apartment in Magnolia. He felt exposed. Vulnerable.

Watched.

Asher eventually found an emptier network of roads. Making sure nobody followed him, the silver-haired mage began to take note of where he passed for future references; a rusty old heap of tins and cans that crawled up the eastern wall of one building; several crates and carts blocking two out of four paths at a four-way intersection; the black, scorched remains of a burnt down house that still reeked of ash and fire; an unmoving body beneath a soiled brown mat, only gaunt, dirty limbs poking out from under the weak cover.

Asher crouched at the latter. He slowly rolled up the right sleeve of his cardigan and reached out to touched the fragile arm, the skin tanned and scarred compared to his pale fingertips. He pressed his fingers against the person's wrist, waited a second or two, then rose and covered his hand again.

_Dead._

His lips pressed together into a harsh, bitter line but he left the body, knowing there was nothing he could do. Death was beyond any human knowledge, whether it be magic or belief.

It was beyond life. An enigma within an enigma. Something too intricate and perplexing for any mortal man to ever be able to solve.

There were low mutterings behind a corner. With a slight furrow of his pale brows, Asher approached the source with caution.

"Stop it, Jack! Get the hell away from me, you asshole."

"Watch your mouth, bitch. Don't give me that bullshit."

"Get your dirty hands off of me! Help!"

A man was just clamping his hand over a younger woman's mouth when Asher reached them. The male looked rugged, with shaggy dark hair, a masculine jaw and dark stubble, and was dressed in well-worn rags and a red cap. His clothes probably hadn't seen a wash in years. The woman was pretty, with long auburn curls and dazzling green eyes that widened as she saw Asher. Her lean, feminine body was accentuated by a daring attire and her treacherously high heels managed to make her about as tall as the thug. The desperate gaze she gave Asher pleaded for him to step in and assist her.

"She told you to step back," Asher said in a steady, neutral tone. "I'd suggest you to listen to the lady."

The man turned towards the silver-haired mage with a deep scowl. "Don't meddle into business you've got no part in, boy," he hissed, his brown eyes hard. "Piss off or I'll gut you open in two."

"Step back," Asher repeated, advancing towards the two. He kept his hands in his pockets and walked slowly. "I don't want things to end badly."

The male laughed. A cold, raw chuckle. He then punched the woman in the stomach and released his grip of her face. With a whimper, she slid down against the brick wall with one arm wrapped around her belly. Asher saw her gasping for air while pounding a fist against her chest, her eyes round and wide open. Her stockings had torn in the fall, the delicate fabric probably having been ripped up by the abrasive wall she now slumped against.

"Now," said the thug with a grim smile. "I don't want to hurt nobody." He pointed at the woman. "That's on you."

Asher didn't reply. He only continued to study the woman.

"You've got the most fucked-up pair of eyes I've ever seen, boy," the man continued as he brandished a long dagger from his belt. "It'll be a pleasure for me to collect them for the Sapphire Snakes."

_A dark guild, _Asher thought, recognizing the name. _They went rouge two years ago, after an internal coup where they replaced their now former guild master. This area is most likely a part of their territory and hunting grounds._

Asher considered the thug. The man was bulky and strong, but his magic level was low compared to most mages. He wouldn't be a particular difficult opponent do beat but Asher preferred not having to worry about a bounty being placed upon his head. It was just too tiresome, dealing with pursuers every now and then.

"Sorry, but I don't think that will happen anytime soon," Asher replied. "I like to be able to see where I walk. Now, if you'd be so kind as to lower your weapon, I think we can sort this situation out with peaceful, verbal exchanges."

"Stuck-up brat!"

The male answered with a growl and a sloppy lunge. Asher read the motion and stepped aside well in advance, avoiding the man's attack by a great amount. Carried on by his hasty charge, the thug flew right past the Fairy Tail-mage, a look of shock crossing his features. He probably hadn't thought Asher would have been able to dodge the attack.

_Please don't use magic, please don't use magic, please don't use magic._

Asher waited until the man whirled back onto him. "I'd like you to calm down," he told the aggravated stranger in a calm, collected voice. "This doesn't have to involve any excessive violence or witty remarks. Only a quick conversation. That is all."

The male rushed towards the silver-haired again, a furious grimace contorting his mouth and bushy eyebrows. Again, Asher dodged well ahead but this time, the thug anticipated his movement. He swung his dagger, instead of piercing with it, and Asher skittered back several paces, deftly avoiding the razor sharp trajectory of the blade. Meanwhile, his hands remained sheathed in his pockets.

Asher threw a brief glance at the woman. She was standing now, leaning against the wall while she inhaled deeply. Her slender legs shook with exertion but she seemed capable.

"Stop dancing around and fight me, boy!" roared the thug, a thick vein thudding in his left temple. He held up his left hand, the hand he wasn't holding his weapon in, and curled his fingers. "Or do you perhaps want a taste of magic?"

_Please don't._

Asher immediately held up his hands in a forfeiting gesture. "That won't be necessary. I just want to talk."

"Sorry, brat," retorted the man with a ruthless smile. A sphere of crackling green energy materialized above his fingertips and he stretched his arm high over his head. "It's too late for that."

The man hurled the orb with surprising grace, his arm slicing through the air with a practiced and well-thought downwards arc. The green ball of concentrated magic soared through the air, as speedily as a bird, and expanded drastically in all directions like a balloon.

Asher's mind whirled. He immediately knew he wouldn't be able to dodge it especially easily. He thought about jumping over it or flatten himself against the ugly street, but then he remembered the woman. She wouldn't make it even if he did.

Time seemed to drag as Asher realized what he would have to do. The sphere of energy came slower, the radiant green light making him squint, and he quickly tugged up his left sleeve. He pulled at an emergency binding and unraveled the bandages wound around his hand and fingers. Asher then raised his hand, fingers spread, towards the approaching projectile and took a deep breath.

When the orb touched his skin, it instantaneously blinked out.

The darkness that all of a sudden enveloped the alley seemed much denser now than it had before. Asher met the astonished brown eyes of the man, who practically was staring at him with his mouth agape.

"What the hell just happened?"

The familiar, exhilarating charge of magic flowed from Asher's fingers and palm into his arm, darting through bones and flesh alike. The sudden burst of energy caused his shoulders to tense, his skin to prickle and his toes to curl. He exhaled, then inhaled quickly, harshly, as the surge of magic at last rammed into his heart just as powerfully as a spear would have.

Up until then, it had felt like his heart only barely managed through the remaining of the day. As if his heart, the one essential thing that kept him biologically alive, only barely had enough strength to circulate enough blood to keep his body functioning properly. But when the blast of consumed magic, stolen magic, filled his major artery and was furiously pumped out into his system, Asher felt as if he had been holding his breath underwater for far too long and finally got to surface for air.

No, that wasn't it. Saying that he simply was able to breathe was too mild an explanation. _Everything_ felt better. His five bodily senses massively improved in the blink of an eye and for the first time in weeks, the silver-haired mage could let out a genuine breath of utter relief. He hated this feeling, but absolutely loved it just the same.

Asher felt _alive_.

"Where is it?" he coolly asked, regarding the back of his naked hand. "Where is it?" Asher repeated, as there was no immediate reply.

"I have no idea what kind of drugs you are on, brat," said the thug, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "But you stay the fuck away from me! Do you hear me?! Stay the fuck away!"

_Ironic, _Asher thought with a strained smile, _that the assailant would utter the same phrase his victim had just a minute ago._

"Not you," Asher told the terrified male. He glanced at the female. "You. Give me what it is that you owe him."

The woman paled and her neatly plucked eyebrows skyrocketed. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she answered, her soft, melodic voice wavering. "Thank you for saving me... but I don't even know that guy!"

"You said 'Jack' earlier," Asher stated in a frigid tone. He began wrapping up his fingers. "You know exactly who he is. You didn't panic even once during this altercation and you also knew how to recuperate from his blow as quickly as possible. You're experienced. Thinking of running away while I, the foolish bait, got beat up?"

Asher took a step closer to her, eying the woman up and down with a cold stare. She flinched underneath his scrutiny but didn't look away.

"Don't even try." The silver-haired mage held out his now covered hand. "Now give me what you owe him and get out of here."

For a moment, the woman's fearful expression remained as plastered onto her pretty face. Her emerald green eyes, veiled by thick black eyelashes, looked up at Asher in confusion and innocence. Then, her attractive features abruptly turned into a mask of scorn. Her smudged lips puckered and pulled into a condescending sneer as she propped her tiny hands on her hips.

"I don't owe that asshole anything," she said venomously. "He can go fuck himself, for all I know. I've paid him back every jewel."

"Do you really think you can lie to my face?" Asher asked the woman softly. His eyes locked with hers and he beckoned his fingers towards her breasts.

"You want some fun?" she purred, realizing where he was pointing. Her sneer was immediately replaced by a flirtatious smile and she began reaching out for him with a manicured finger. "You're pretty good-looking, I must say. Why don't you and I—"

Asher firmly nudged her arm away with his right forearm, his features solemn. "You're hiding your valuables there. Jack, how much does she owe you?" the silver-haired mage asked in a louder voice, aiming his question towards the thug.

"Er... Six C's."

"You heard him," Asher encouraged her. "Six-hundred jewels."

The woman defiantly raised her chin, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't have that much. Two-hundred, at most."

Asher observed her closely. She shifted uncomfortably but remained still and determined.

"Your necklace, then," he said.

"This old trinket?" she exclaimed in surprise, touching the small gem adorning her deep cleavage.

Asher said nothing.

"It's some old rubbish I inherited from the old hag," the woman said, obviously feeling anxious at his silence. She unclasped the necklace though, and handed it to him without any protests. "Here. I couldn't care less about that piece of crap. I bet it's not even worth anything."

Asher held up the necklace by its iron chain, allowing the tiny red stone to dangle freely beneath his grip. "This is a garnet. A type of gemstone."

Hearing the word and the promise of possessing something of high value, the woman tried to retake the jewelry. But Asher anticipated her move and took a big stepped away from her.

"Give it back!" she screamed, her eyes zeroing in onto the gem. "That's my necklace you're walking with!"

"You are quite correct though," Asher said as he ignored her exasperated shouts and walked towards the thug, who was staring incredulously at him. "It isn't worth especially much. Perhaps seven-hundred jewels, if you're lucky."

He wordlessly offered the petrified man the trinket and strode out of the alley.

"Still," the silver-haired mage quietly spoke over his shoulder, "if that was something your mother left you after she'd passed, you should have treasured it more. It should have carried much more worth to you than the weight of some mere jewels."

Asher scowled as he got nothing in reply. Not even a squeak came from the woman. He didn't even bother turning around or bidding them goodbye.

"Despicable," was all that he muttered as he left the two and recommenced in his search for a suitable inn. Asher knew he had to hurry; he was struggling in a race against the clock.

_How long will I be able to keep myself together?_

He had been strolling for about fifteen minutes when the first signs of withdrawal appeared. His breathing grew uneven and so did his heartbeats. His skull started to pound from within and his steps decreased greatly in speed. He was feeling weak and nauseous and ready to topple over at any time, but bit down on his lip and willed his legs to continue.

Fortunately, the silver-haired mage at last managed to find a tavern tailored to his low requirements and checked in for the night. Asher immediately tore off his necktie and pulled his heavy cardigan over his head as he entered the sparsely furnished room he'd rented. He threw both pieces of clothing into some random corner of the obscure bedroom and shakily rummaged through his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter, tucking a white roll of tobacco between his chapped lips.

Not even the toxic fumes could help him. Asher realized it as soon as he inhaled the first cloud of smoke—it was useless. The rush of nicotine was like a tiny candle compared to the enormous, uncontrollable wildfire burning through his veins.

The inferno of magic.

Asher wanted to shout. He wanted to grab something and throw it across the room. He wanted to kick the damn bedpost. He wanted to tear his hair off. He wanted to hurt someone, everything, _himself_.

Anything that could take his mind off of the absolutely unparallelled sensation he currently was experiencing.

Because there was nothing Asher dreaded more than what would happen after his high. After feeling like he was on top of the world, god and solitary ruler of all and everything, the paranoia and terror that would strangle him mercilessly throughout the following couple of hours always got the best of him. The withdrawal and backlash of having absorbed someone's magic, Asher assumed. He always felt a little less like himself after he "bled out" as he so dryly had decided to call it. He couldn't help feeling as if he were losing bits and pieces of himself, his _soul_, whenever he took—no, _stole_ energy from others and used it in his own body, thus fully devouring the magic that had been stored within them. And that particular fear—the fear of being a magic-addicted _monster—_rendered him unable to either sleep nor stay awake.

Because what if he one day decided not to give a damn anymore? What if he someday, when Master Makarov asked him that infuriating question, wouldn't be able to answer truthfully? That he no longer was in _control_?

Asher hadn't even noticed how dangerously short his cigarette had burnt while he had been brooding. He mashed it against the windowsill with perhaps needlessly much force and walked towards the bed with trepidation, peeling off his shirt meanwhile.

_Guess this'll be another fan-fucking-tastic night, huh_, he thought with a grim, unhappy smile. _Another day where I'll fall asleep, alone and rotting in my own thoughts and with my veins pumping with a stupid thug's type E magic, and wake up, alone and rotting in my own thoughts and with my veins "finally" pure of someone else's magic._

The silver-haired mage plopped down onto the bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes. He adjusted into a comfortable position and stared up into the dark ceiling, counting the cracks and the holes in the wooden beams, before he finally closed his eyes and wiped sweat off of his forehead. He steeled himself—it was time for him to face the consequences of his earlier choice.

_Happy nineteenth birthday, Asher._


	4. Dark Omen

**Dark Omen**

_Artifacts – rare, incredibly powerful and unstable magical objects spread all across Fiore, the last vestiges from an ancient and mysterious civilization. The strange items may vary in size, shape, colour and design, but all share the power to siphon and store large amounts of __**Eternano **__from the atmosphere, an ability usually exclusive to living entities. Their cause of existence as well as how they were made are yet unknown. The devices are often _very _difficult to extract and are mostly collected by eager, eccentric archaeologists, bold, daring treasure hunters and dangerous, scheming wizards._

**Asher**

Illuminated merely by the soft, golden glow from countless of tiny magical gemstones, the stone staircase winding through the obscurity far below was utterly treacherous. A seemingly fathomless darkness yawned from underneath and on either side of the even and well-kept stairs, the dense gloom stretching for as far as one's eye could reach. It almost seemed like a primordial creature, or deity with neither a face nor a tangible body, who was yearning and vainly attempting to reach for the amber-like stones seated in natural crevices spreading all across the high roof of the enormous cave. The only thing keeping the faceless antediluvian at bay was the steady luminosity of the gems.

Then, what would happen if they suddenly blinked out?

_An ominous thought, _Asher mused dryly, halting to regard his nebulous surroundings. His eyes had since long gotten used to the semidarkness and he glanced upwards, perhaps in an old habit or in simple boredom. The cavern roof was as fractured as a cracked window or breaking ice, and the gemstones appeared almost comically beautiful in contrast—like stars adorning a broken, midnight sky.

_Funny, how the unknown boggles the human mind. Especially subjects related to dark and dire things._

There were neither railings nor any other types of safety precautions to aid a traveler's footing. Asher had since long stopped caring about the architectural logic of the foundation-lacking stairs, well aware that as far as Ancient Magic was concerned, the possibilities were endless. He wasn't sure there even _was_ an adequate explanation in the first place. The cave seemed as ancient as the wordless darkness it housed—prehistorical. Like it had existed before time even began. As if sunlight had never been allowed touched its innards. It did not appear man-made.

Asher continued to climb carefully up the stairs. The soft, regular thudding of his sturdy boots would've barely been audible outside, but within the vast, empty space of the old cavern, even the slightest breath echoed and bounced from invisible wall to wall. Sounds never really seemed to truly fade out, but mingled and blended with each other and created a haunting ambiance. A sinister background noise.

A symphony of success.

The air was clean and cool to breathe in. The latter wasn't especially surprising, considering which type of environment he currently was treading, but the former property had brought Asher concern and suspicion during his initial descent. What if he were too late? What if the location had already been looted? What if there no longer was anything of value left?

But as the silver-haired mage finally had reached the bottom of the about a mile long staircase, he'd found the seal of the chamber yet intact. Nobody had entered in decades, perhaps even centuries.

A fact which had caused a shudder of anticipation to rack his body.

Asher had gently placed his forehead against the intricately decorated stone. The close proximity to the circular tablet had caused his breath to rebound and warm the lower half of his face. His eyelids had slid close. The task did not require any vision.

Marks and patterns had been carved into the rusty-red tablet by someone skilled and equipped with good tools. The artwork had been colourless and asymmetrical, a chaotic jumble of an extinct civilization's cultural symbols and language chiseled into plain stone. Like so many times before, the silver-haired mage had traced the artistic cuts and chasms with the palms of his bandaged hands, his ten fingers individually diving into and firmly moving through the rough dips and shapes in search for a hidden button or lever. Anything that would trigger the unlocking mechanism.

Although Asher would like to say that he relied on his intelligence and that nothing but curiosity drove him in his quest for finding all the remaining Artifacts in Fiore, he knew that the root of his ardor and perhaps, recklessness, was pure selfishness. It was his greed that motivated him, pulling, tugging and dragging him towards the massive sources of magic that were the Artifacts. That was the only reason he'd found one in the first place.

As a result of his insatiable, uncontrollable hunger for magical energy.

Asher's pursuit of these historical remnants had initially been a surreptitious enterprise. Master Makarov had forbidden Asher from seeking out the Artifacts due to the threat such enormously charged magical devices would pose a then thirteen-year-old boy. They were also somewhat of a controversy ever since they had first been discovered about half a century ago.

The news then had told of a large mining corporation having found "an indestructible piece of debris extracted from several miles beneath ground". The Magic Council had of course impounded the never before seen object and conducted expensive and extensive research upon the item. Unfortunately, they'd been unable to find a way to harness such unstable and heavily loaded Eternano in a safety-guaranteed procedure; dozens had died in a couple of experiments gone wrong. Upon receiving several more reports of the strange devices' emergence all across the world—some new, some rediscovered—the council decided to let the issue remain under prolonged development, which according to the Master at a more recently bid explanation had meant that they were "pulling bureaucratic crap out of their asses". And it certainly seemed that way, considering that they hadn't touched the subject in the more than fifty years that had passed since.

_The Magic Council probably feared gathering all the Artifacts in one and the same place and under their specific jurisdiction_, Asher thought as he ascended, his focus aimed forward. _They still do. Imagine what a great risk and crack in the armor that the devices would assume. Everyone would try to get their hands on them, whether they'd try to use the Artifacts for good or evil. Mages and civilians alike, from every nook and corner of the world, would want them with different goals and aims in mind. The Artifacts would eventually ignite a conflict of global scale. Also, it would take years—decades, or even centuries to find them all in the first place. Such a large venture would take gargantuan resources and countless of persistent employees._

_Yes, _said another part of Asher's brain in a mock cheerful tone. _Let's just let random fools travel across the world and gather them in secret instead. Because that is so much more preferable._

Asher pursed his lips. "I'm not one of those fools," he breathed and briefly grazed over a slight jutting shape in his jeans pockets. His whisper resonated throughout the whole cavern, the echo mixing into and changing his former tune. "I..."

Relief coursed through the silver-haired mage's system as he at last managed to reach the final landing, the promise of the outdoors—and freedom from the abysmal embrace of the humongous cave—waiting before him. His strides lengthened and quickened; Asher wanted out of the darkness as soon as possible. It hadn't felt like this before but as soon as he had spoken and thus altered with the ambiance, he'd felt a sliver of claustrophobia crawling into his chest. It hadn't been fear, but that stage of uncomfortable awkwardness one felt precisely before anxiousness took over and made you consider: where exactly was the exit now again?

Asher squeezed through the narrow passage leading towards the third underground level of the tomb disguising the cave's sole entrance. His knee struck something hard, causing a jolt of pain to travel up his leg and into his hip, and he lightly scraped his cheek against the abrasive surface of the stone wall, but eventually managed to slither through.

The stale smell of decaying corpses and the rich, earthy smell of underground growth immediately filled Asher's nostrils. Cracks ran along the old stone walls of the derelict burial chamber positioned furthest below ground and dark vegetation and thick roots peeked out from the fissures. The impromptu torch that the silver-haired mage had manufactured from a ripped piece of his stomach bandages and a hefty, arm-long wooden stick lay on one of the marble coffins, still burning lively with the interwoven scroll spell Asher had bought in the tiny village he had passed through before here. The flames were not for cooking purposes and didn't give off any warmth at all, but simply emitted a sufficient light. It would last five hours, give or take thirty minutes depending on the circumstances, the vendor had told him. The artificial flames were already fading.

Asher picked up the torch and started upstairs. He should have been tired, exhausted really after having walked thousands of steps, yet he barely even felt any resistance in his muscles. Not even a twinge of exertion.

His fingers ghosted over the shape protruding from his pocket again. He couldn't help but smile ruefully at his haplessness.

He had never been a lucky person.

Nightfall was imminent. Looking up at the slight snippets of starry twilight sky visible through the substantial rifts meandering across the unlit ceiling of the mausoleum, Asher realized it had been stupid to compare the honey-colored gemstones in the cavern with the pride of the nightly firmament. The heavenly bodies were blazing down at him, much stronger and brighter than the luminescent stones had shined during his earlier climb, even though the former were endlessly more distant. The incandescent dots were like bonfires compared to mere campfire sparks, even though they were tinier than than the tip of his nail.

_Celestial bodies,_ Asher thought during his final flight of stairs. The light of his torch was faltering and he briefly crouched to lower the stick onto a stone step. _Didn't Master say something about a Celestial Spirit Mage having recently joined Fairy Tail? Or well, I guess a couple of months have passed since then. I wonder what Loke might think of it._

It warmed to think back of the guild, he had to admit. Although the notion had always been there, nagging him at the back of his mind, Asher had never truly wanted to leave Fairy Tail. Not even during his... harder times.

Being part of a guild was one of the few things that kept him together.

Emerging from the crypt entrance, a hard-whipping gale caught him off guard. The silver-haired mage stumbled slightly to the side and instinctively raised an arm to protect his face from the harsh wind, his long sleeve flapping into his eyes.

It was too harsh, he realized.

Before he even had the time to blink, instinct willed Asher into a forward somersault. A vortex of shredding, compact air drilled into the spot he just recently had occupied and just narrowly missed the crown of his head. Jagged stones from the crumbling ceiling lay scattered across the stone-paved floor and made his roll painful, though bearable. His silvery hair lashed about, invisible fingers pulling the strands into every direction, and temporarily semi-blinded him.

Intuition made him scramble towards one of the six marble pillars supporting the considerable, rectangular stone roof of the aged mausoleum. Another blast of air cut right past Asher's ear and he had to bend his backbone in a painful arch to avoid being hit by the ricocheting projectile. Lush vines and tendrils spiraled up the column, digging into his back as the silver-haired mage pressed against the cover.

"Who's there?" Asher called, carefully peering around the other side of the broad pillar. "I'm—"

He immediately pulled back as a projectile of barely visible air rushed towards him. The spell struck the column with a forceful slam, a high-pitched tone whistling past both of Asher's ears, but the structure held.

_An assassin? _Asher asked himself. _Or a hired mercenary working for some company?_

The silver-haired mage touched the vein in his throat. His pulse throbbed evenly. Calmly. He was stable.

Boldly, Asher decided to stretch out his arms in a meek gesture. The pillar was only thick enough to cover the elbow-width of his reach and both of his forearms and hands jutted out from his hiding spot.

"I mean no harm," the silver-haired mage announced, his fingers clenching the soft fabric of his long sleeves. "Who are you and what's your business with me?"

Asher was merely guessing. He didn't know whether the person was after him specifically or had other reasons for his or her obvious hostility. Maybe, his attacker, too, had come in search for the object hidden underground.

Muffled footsteps came from the low, short stone ramp leading up and into the grand entrance of the mausoleum. They sounded confident and determined, and squeaked slightly, as if they came from a pair of loyal boots.

_Not the gait of a miserable __wanderer who's lost his or her way_, Asher acknowledged. He safely assumed that his attacker was alone, at least for now, and decided to peek around the ornate column again. The wind smacked into his face, making him squint, but he managed to distinguish the most important detail of his pursuer's appearance.

His guild mark.

Flattening himself against the pillar again, Asher's pale eyebrows knitted together into a stern frown. _Them again_, he thought somberly as he quickly started unwinding the bandages around his left hand. _One hand should be enough._

"I think you've got something I want, _freak_. I saw you crawling outta that crypt. Hand it over now, and I just might allow you to walk away from here alive. A generous offer, considering how many of my comrades you've permanently injured."

Asher flexed his now freed fingers. The man's strides had ceased and the silver-haired mage concentrated hard as he attempted to pinpoint his attacker's location. A warm torchlight emanated from the entrance, the light creeping across the floor towards him, and Asher tracked its flickering movements with calculating eyes.

"I don't think so," he replied, answering both of the man's gruffly voiced demands. "I'd suggest you to leave peacefully and tell the rest of your guild to stop pursuing me. You're never going to succeed in whatever it is that you guys are attempting. I won't allow it."

"Arrogant, are we?" came the snarky retort. "Snoop out again and I'll blow your face, _freak_. I'm the most skilled Air Mage you've ever had the misfortune to meet."

_Air. _Asher pursed his lips. _Elemental magic. That might require a different approach, especially if his magic is type B or above._

"Come out!"

The silver-haired mage took a deep breath. Asher was fairly sure that he had localized the position of the man and decided to dart towards his right. He sprinted on the balls of his feet and ran in a sloping arch towards the mausoleum entrance, the fingers of his left hand stretched almost unnaturally.

The hostile mage stood in the wide opening, holding his torch in his right hand. The artificial flames, Asher noticed, radiated light on neutral, nondescript clothes and a round, pale face. The Air Mage was not a handsome fellow and had a surprisingly generous body shape considering which element he portrayed. Illumination licked the topside of his large hand, revealing a red tattoo, and the silver-haired mage concluded that he'd been correct with his initial observation.

His assailant was from Grimoire Heart, a Dark Guild that currently assumed the position as the strongest and most influential enemy of the Legal Guilds and thus, the rest of the magic world. They had as of two years ago began to hunt for the Artifacts all across Fiore as well. Asher knew, because he had faced them several times. With their mutual interest but solitary aims, he'd immediately made an adversary of the Dark Guild and not hesitated in taking action against them. Since conflicts among guilds were highly illegal, he'd kept his businesses for himself and not even told the Master of his sometimes troubled journeys.

"Try to dodge this, freak!" the man bellowed as he made a wide arm movement towards Asher.

Air swirled towards him and slammed into him with the strength of a sledgehammer. The gale struck all of him and almost knocked the silver-haired mage onto his back, but he crouched and resolutely persevered.

"Not so cocky now, are we?" chuckled his assailant triumphantly.

Asher was bending so low that the tip of his nose almost scratched the surface of the floor. The wind tore at his clothes, dragging him backwards, but other than that, he felt nothing special.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

_This is barely worthy of type __C, _he thought in disappointment, staring into the dirty floor. _Is this truly Grimoire Heart's most adept Air Mage?_

The relentless torrent of cold air suddenly receded and Asher glanced up. The man was looking down at him with a condescending sneer.

"So this is the Freaky-eyes that's caused Grimoire Heart so much fuzz." He snorted and folded his thick arms over his barrel-like chest. "You're pathetic. Kneeling on the ground like an ugly dog. Are you really an S-class mage of Fairy Tail?"

_I'd like to ask _you _a similar question, _Asher thought. Out loud he said, "You've heard about me? That's odd. I didn't think I was famous."

To be frank, he had made _very sure _of never having to worry about people accidentally finding out of his existence. Especially people of the wrong kind.

The round man threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Hah! Of course you aren't. Master Hades has made sure we don't leak any information about you, Spellthief. You should consider it an honor, even. Your identity and very existence is safe with us."

"'Spellthief'." Asher reflected upon the word. "I like it," he said flatly.

The Air Mage let out another scornful snort. "Still a kid, I see."

Tired of remaining on the soiled ground, Asher rose to his feet. That he wasn't being immediately attacked startled him—hadn't the Grimoire Heart-mage come to end him?

"What is it that you truly want me?" the silver-haired mage asked, his tone conversational. Asher was confused, but definitely did not want to show it. "I'm beginning to doubt you're here merely for the retrieval of the Artifact."

"Clever," commented the man and shrugged. "The Master wanted me to give you a message. An offer, you might say. However, considering your pitiful performance here, I don't really feel like sharing."

"I don't mind." Asher said in monotone. "Get out of my way."

"Or?" The man laughed again. "You'll cower like a little girl again? Hide in absolutely plain sight?"

Asher weakly held up his left hand. "I'll defeat you with nothing but this and my two feet."

"Oh, really?" His opponent raised a fist of his own, dropping the magical torch on the floor. "Try it," he challenged, the flames lighting his features from underneath giving him a menacing expression. "I'll crush you."

The silver-haired mage predicted the invisible swipe towards the only formidable strength he had revealed thus far: his legs. A good, tactical maneuver from his opponent, but also the most foreseeable attack. Asher vaulted over the current of air and rapidly closed the distance between him and the other mage. Rushing into close quarters, he swung his leg in a high kick aimed at the man's face, his goal to knock the hostile male out before he would have to use any magic of his own. His heart beat regularly, pulsating in as steadily a rhythm as the ticking of a grandfather clock, and his body moved fluidly, obeying the lightning-quick commands of his brain to perfection.

What a difference a mere trinket could to.

The male groaned as he had to bend backwards in able to avoid the trajectory of Asher's heel. The owner of the latter began to follow up his initial strike with another, subsequent kick but the Grimoire Heart-mage moved much faster than the Fairy Tail-mage had expected of such a large man. Asher bounded back as the beginning phase of a cyclone speedily appeared from his opponent's clenched fist and immediately headed for the safety of the nearest pillar. He just barely managed to take cover as the magically composed cyclone thundered through the mausoleum, slamming into the column he had chosen. The massive stone structure shook as the whole length of the cyclone continued to stubbornly push against the rock and Asher realized he would have to find another hiding spot, and that quickly, before the pillar gave away and crushed him beneath its weight.

"Come out, Freak-eyes!" screamed the Air Mage over the thunderous noise of the wind. "Why do you hide all the time? Are you scared?"

_Yes I am_, Asher thought grimly. _But not of you._

He glanced at the naked palm of his hand, considering his options. In possession of an Artifact, he knew that he no longer had to worry about running out of energy and having to steal from somewhere—someone—else. There was still a risk though, if ever so tiny, that had him hesitate. He needed to learn how to restrain himself, or at least regulate his use of the Artifact.

Lest it end up like his former device.

The pillar creaked ominously. The silver-haired mage realized he no longer had any more time to think; he needed to react. And so, Asher took a deep breath before stepping out of his cover, arm firmly raised forward against the violent flow of air.

_Type C, was it?_

The harsh, powerful cyclone almost instantly subsided. Shock coursed through the Grimoire Heart-mage as Asher stepped out of the shadow behind the column and walked towards him with his arm yet outstretched.

"W-What... what happened?" the man uttered breathlessly.

The silver-haired mage exhaled in relief as the absorbed surge of energy gently blended into and easily adapted to the flow of his already magic-filled system. He wouldn't have to convert it, as he had initially feared.

"I told you," Asher said coolly as he slowly approached the man, "that my single hand and two feet would be more than enough to stop you."

With a slackened jaw, the Air Mage simply stared from Asher's left hand to his own balled fists, as if trying to come up with the connection. The reason for how his spell had been dispersed so promptly. He found none.

"Incredible," whispered the man. His round, apple-like cheeks were pale and his blue eyes undoubtedly revealed fear. "What's your secret, freak? What kind of demonic power do you have? Or is this some kind of illusion or trick? Are you some kind of—"

A couple of paces away, Asher whirled and brutally slammed his heel into the side of the man's blonde skull. The other mage fell like a chopped tree, first slowly, very barely starting to lean, then, in an instant, he fell to the side and smacked into the stone floor.

"I'd be lying," the silver-haired mage began, pressing his boot on top of the crumpled shape beneath him, "if I said I wanted to cause you further pain. But..."

Asher drilled the heel of his foot into the man's flesh until he woke and let out a low, guttural groan. "Considering you just tried to kill me, I guess we could call things even? Now, what was it that Hades wanted you to tell me?"

The Grimoire Heart-mage grunted something inaudible into the floor. Asher released some pressure off of his boot and allowed the man to turn his face sideways. One blue eye stared up at him, revealing both hatred and terror.

He loathed that look.

"Well?" Asher encouraged him frigidly.

"He..." the man wheezed, "...he wanted you to consider... joining us and... becoming his student."

A jolt of astonishment surged through the silver-haired mage's body. He soaked his lips and frowned; he mustn't loose his composure now that he had the interrogation role settled.

"The Grimoire Heart wants to recruit _me_?" Asher asked in what he hoped was an unreadable tone. "Why?"

"You're powerful," admitted the other mage begrudgingly and coughed. "And young. And your magic is unlike what any of us have ever faced before. The Grimoire Heart would make good allies with you. You'd become a formidable mage under Master Hades' careful and wise tutoring. You'd become someone who doesn't have to hide from the Magic Council."

Asher stiffened.

"Yes, we knew that," said the Air Mage with a wicked smile. His teeth were red with blood. "And the Master also told me to tell you that he once knew of someone with a similar... ability such as yourself."

_Impossible._

"Liar." Asher involuntarily scowled and dug his boot into the man's backbone. "You and the rest of your guild are nothing but a foolish bunch of criminals with ludicrous ideas. Your Guild Master in particular."

The man's blue eyes narrowed in anger and he spit out blood, streaking the floor with dark, crimson spots.

"You'll pay for this, Freaky-eyes," hissed the man in a hoarse, abrasive voice. He tried to get up but Asher only burrowed his foot deeper into the man's back, which produced another thick, pain-laced moan.

"That thing you've got going with the word 'freak'," he told the Air Mage softly, having gathered his emotions. "Is really starting to get on my nerves. Don't call me that. What was it that you called me before?"

The silver-haired mage looked up into the ceiling, and thoughtfully studied the network of cracks spanning across the aged stone. "Oh, yes. Spellthief." He leveled his gaze with his fallen foe. "Tell that master of yours to stop stalking me. I want nothing to do with him nor his guild."

Asher squatted on his toes and touched the cold ground with his fingertips. He concentrated, briefly closing his eyes, and mentally reached for the source of all that magic he now had streaming through his veins. Peeling open his eyelids, the fingers on his left hand emanated a soft, cerulean glow.

"I'll be leaving now," he said as he quickly stood and began walking away. "Remember what I told you. The chains will shackle you for about half an hour. They tighten the more you struggle so don't try to move until the right amount of time has passed."

"Hey! Did you even... What chains?

Asher coiled his fingers into a claw-like form. The other mage grumbled something that sounded like a curse but the silver-haired mage heard no attempts at rising. With a final glance over his shoulder to make sure the man hadn't died, Asher wordlessly left the mausoleum.

While trudging towards the nearest town, he hurried to redirect the flow of magic within his body. It was difficult, especially since he hadn't done it in more than six months, but the cerulean light radiating from his fingertips eventually faded away. He was relieved, Asher realized, as he bandaged his uninjured left hand. His heartbeats were even and no sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

_I'm... fine_, he thought incredulously as he followed the same dirt road in which he had come. It marked the centre of a broad passage dwindling through the vast forest, heading north according to the star constellations. The gravel and sand crunched beneath his booted feet and the tall trees with their enormous, black canopy loomed threateningly over him. Gloomy bushes and other vegetation bordered closely to the road and rustled occasionally as nocturnal animals trod past. Asher wasn't worried, however, since he doubted they would be able to cause him any harm.

The air was cool and whistled swiftly through the branches, but compared to Asher's earlier battle against the Air Mage, the breeze outside felt as gentle and soft as a pelt blanket. Still, the silver-haired mage quickened and lengthened his strides in an attempt to gather some warmth from exertion. His legs were still not tired, although his eyes were, and he was growing alarmingly hungry—a forgotten sensation that shocked him, since he usually never felt such trivial emotions.

Since he usually always was too busy trying to find a new distraction.

"_And Hades also told me to tell you that he once knew of someone with a similar... ability such as yourself."_

The words terrified Asher as much as they instilled him with a sense of hope. But that was perhaps why. Without hope, he wouldn't have any expectations. He wouldn't anticipate or wish for something that he knew could never be true. But now that this seed of hope had... corrupted him, he felt nothing but agony.

Because, what if the message wasn't a lie?

Something suddenly buzzed in his cardigan pocket, rousing him from his depressed musings. Asher quickly extracted the tiny object and found that his custom designed Communications Lacrima Crystal was blinking and vibrating furiously.

Someone was calling him.

Master Makarov had insisted on the silver-haired mage possessing one of the communication devices at all times after the latter got fatally wounded during one of his first quests. Asher had only used the old thing twice, and both simply for answering the Master's eager calls.

_Here comes a third_, he thought as he touched the smooth surface of the Lacrima. "Yes, Master?"

"Yoho," chirped Master Makarov. Cheerful, was he?

"It's almost midnight," Asher stated flatly. "What's happened? Is something concerning the guild?"

"Why do you always have to be so serious?" Makarov's smiling face gradually appeared above the crystal and the silver-haired mage held the shiny ball away from him. "Can't I just call to say hi?"

Asher deadpanned. "Hi."

"Nice to see you too, boy," muttered the elderly mage surly before clearing his throat. "How goes your search?"

Asher raised his eyebrows ever so slightly: had the old man forgotten that the people adjoined into the call could see and hear everything the other person did or said? "I succeeded," was all he said. Then, he couldn't help but repeat the phrase. "I succeeded."

Master Makarov shone up. "It's perfect then! Why don't you come back to the guild house? I need you for an upcoming event."

"You need _me_," Asher began, "for one of _your _events?"

Makarov clasped his hands behind his back. His kind voice assumed a formal tone and the short man—even shorter, now that he was in miniature—straightened, his shoulders leveling with each other.

"The end of the year is nearing," he told the silver-haired mage solemnly, though, with the characteristic glint of humor in his black eyes still remaining. "You know what that means, right?"

Asher pursed his lips but nodded. He knew.

"I'd like you to be a part of the ceremony this year."

After a pause, Asher wondered tentatively, "Is this a joke, a request or a demand?"

The Master grinned. "A demand. But," he said, holding up a wrinkly finger, "you _could_ try to disobey me. Rules have never hindered you before."

The silver-haired mage rubbed his forehead, considering his guild master's content expression for a long time. Then, the younger mage sighed, finally forfeiting.

"When do you want me?" he asked, his tone laced with heavy reluctance.

"As soon as possible," Makarov replied, positively beaming over Asher's reply. "You'll be overwhelmed by the location of this year's trials—I'm having them take place at Tenrou Island."

"Bringing me along is a bad idea, then," Asher immediately pointed out. He had heard rumors of Fairy Tail's mysterious private island, a place hidden by a barrier so powerful that no magic in the world could be used to track the island's location. One would have to know the exact position of the island to be able to find it.

He didn't even want to think of what could happen to the guild's holy place if he happened to lose control there.

"You found your little trinket, didn't you?" Makarov asked. "Shouldn't that be enough to keep you... good and well for a year or two? I was thinking..."

Asher managed to discern concern in the elderly mage's voice. A twinge of pain stung his heart—he didn't want the Master to worry about him.

"Natsu has asked about you."

The silver-haired mage's eyes narrowed. _Dragneel?_

Master Makarov scratched his jaw. "I haven't given him any real answers but the impatient brat ain't just all stupidity and stubbornness. He's got some intuition. Or animal instinct. Something, at least." His black eyes locked with Asher's. "He won't stop harassing people about you. I was thinking... maybe, he'd be the right person to share your... your problems with. As a start."

"He can't help me," Asher said sharply. "And what can a mere Dragon Slayer do? They specialize in pure cataclysmic and brute force. He'd probably kill me faster than—"

He swallowed. Hard.

"_Natsu_ might have what exactly it is that you lack," Makarov answered in an equally sharp tone, although his eyes revealed deep concern. "And not because he's a Dragon Slayer. Boy's got—"

"He's Fairy Tail's loudest, most impatient, hot-headed and destructive mage." Asher curled his lips disdainfully. "He's got absolutely no self-restraint. He's even worse than Scarlet, although the two of them are so frighteningly similar they might as well be siblings."

"Asher," Master Makarov said in a warning tone.

"I'll head towards Magnolia first thing tomorrow," Asher said sternly. "But I'm leaving as soon as I hear even the slightest suggestion that I should 'share my concerns' or 'try to talk to someone'. That's a load of ridiculous rubbish. Talking to someone about my... my innate issues aren't going to help _anyone_."

Makarov sighed. Sorrow flattened his lips and creased his forehead. "Alright," he said quietly. "I promise that I won't bring it up again. But only if you promise that you'll try to solve your concerns on your own."

Asher frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it." The Master's glum expression abruptly changed and he smiled widely. "See ya soon, boy!"

The glow of the Lacrima died before Asher was able to say goodbye, and he was alone again.


	5. Genesis

**A/N:**

**Happy Holidays everyone! Hope you had an absolutely marvelous time with your family and/or friends with lots of food, love and fun, but if you didn't and happened to miss out, I wish upon you an even better winter holiday next year!**

**There are some changes in this chapter regarding how I utilize capital letters, but I hope it won't prove too much of an issue. I'm merely in the experimental phase to see how it looks and feels. If I find out I don't like it later on, I'll change accordingly.**

**As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.**

**Please enjoy reading.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Genesis<span>**

_Acquaintanceship – a stage of amity between two parties characterized by occasional contacts. It is the most common kindling of friendship._

**Asher**

A fractured web of flashing, zigzagging light shattered the black, troubled sky and reflected off of the dark puddles covering the cobbled streets. Deafening thunder boomed in the distance shortly after and the loud blast temporarily drowned out the downpour's wild orchestra of rapid staccatos and unceremonious crescendos. Combined with a harsh, whipping gale, the dire weather managed to discourage anyone with even the slightest instinct of self-preservation from roaming the paved avenues of Magnolia. Even the starving, homeless alley cats and dogs that otherwise pestered the city had seemed to nestle into hidden corners. Almost all of the windows revealed nothing but a gloomy, unlit interior.

Cold water was seeping through his clothes and soaked almost every inch of his weary body by the time Asher arrived Fairy Tail's gargantuan Guild House. The large windows stared at him, emptily and devoid of any cozy illumination, and the tall building towered over him, looking twice as big as he recalled it in the dark. He almost raised a hand to knock on the heavy double doors, then reconsidered. The silver-haired Mage doubted many would be able to greet him, since, after all, he was entering the Guild Hall in the middle of the night. Few—if any—would be inside.

The dense wooden doors easily bent inwards under the influence of his touch, allowing him easy access. The Guild Master was anticipating him, Asher knew. He very clearly sensed the powerful, pulsating and yellow-and-white Energy Source belonging to the currently conscious Makarov Dreyar. Actually, he would have been able to sense Master Makarov from the other side of town. His Guild Master was an exceptionally powerful Mage, known to many as one of the Ten Wizard Saints, and Asher had always thought the elderly Mage's source of Magic incredibly tempting.

_Incredibly _tempting.

Asher raked a hand through his wet tresses and soaked his already soggy bandages. Water trickled down the curve of his ears and neck and slithered down beneath the collar of his shirt. The turbulent weather outside very slightly managed to permeate the air just by the entrance of the massive wood-and-stone edifice, even as he closed the double doors behind him, thus cutting off the icy draft. But as Asher started weaving through the obscure Guild Hall and toward the staircase leading upstairs, warmth embraced his limbs and face. Gradually, his shivers receded. Blood returned to his numb fingertips and thighs and smoothed his drastic ascent to the second floor.

His boots squeaked softly as he hiked and reached a gloomy hallway that opened up into several lesser and equally dark corridors. Discreet lamps were mounted on the walls at regular intervals although strangely enough, nobody had lit them. Deciding not to bother with something so trifle as indoor lighting, Asher used the walls to track his progress. He placed a cold palm against the wallpapered framework of the building and trod down the empty hallway, peering around corners to check for any signs of Fairy Tail's Guild Master. After passing two gaps leading into side passageways, the silver-haired mage spotted soft, golden light slanting through the thin threshold of a wooden door. He approached the illumination and, sensing the Guild Master's magic on the other side, turned the handle.

Master Makarov was seated in a velvet blue high rest chair behind a massive mahogany desk, which occupied the center of the spacious, rectangular study. He sat facing the door with a calm expression etched onto his aged, wizened features, and the close proximity of the lit desk lamp made his shadow stretch and cover almost all of the windowed wall behind him. Raindrops pattered violently against the panes, tracing meandering routes as they slid downwards, and the tail of a wind smacked against the glass, causing it to shudder. Stacks of books cluttered the floor and most of the table surface where a wobbly pillar of cups also stood. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves bordered three out of the room's four walls, countless of paintings haphazardly adorning the wall opposite the door. Asher didn't know for sure since the pictures were made obscure by Makarov's great, imposing silhouette, but he thought he discerned the younger versions of almost all the guild members, acutely drawn by the hand of a master artist. Erza Scarlet's crimson hair was very clearly distinguishable even in the gloom, and after some squinting, Asher managed to distinguish what was the childish, round faces of several other, now-grown-up, Fairy Tail Mages.

One shadowy countenance was unmistakably Natsu Dragneel's lopsided grin.

"Yo, boy."

Master Makarov peered over a bundle of paper he until then had been browsing through. He pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles over his forehead and into the white wisps of hair covering his skull, and curiously took in Asher's drenched state.

"Master," Asher replied and politely inclined his head, causing water to trail forward across his features. "It's been a while." His posture straightened.

"You always say that." Makarov snorted softly. "And what made you walk through this rainstorm wearing nothing but that? You look like something out of a horror. I would've gladly met you in the morning."

Asher spread his arms wide, palms open, and glanced down at himself. Water was dripping from his long sleeves, the hem of his heavy cardigan, the sturdy wrinkles of his jeans and the toes and heels of his combat boots. A fat drop crept down his forehead and forked into two as the bridge of his nose cut it in half. "I deem my current outfit sufficient for whatever weather there might be. I don't necessarily feel the requirement to change according to nature's temporary wrath or leniency."

Master Makarov scratched his jaw. "That sounds... awfully stubborn."

"I like my current clothes," the silver-haired Mage simply said, even when he knew what kind of mess he must appear. He was speaking the truth, however. The garments that he presently wore helped covering all of him and thus, his secretive bindings as well.

Lightning streaked the sky and thunder rumbled a few of seconds afterward. Then, the elderly man cleared his throat and spoke again.

"How do you feel?"

"Rather alright." Asher let his arms fall to his sides. He subconsciously drew his fingers closer to his pocket and watched Master Makarov's black eyes dart into the same direction. "The Artifact very smoothly adapted to me. I can control the magical flow to its full extent."

"Wonderful," Makarov said, nodding encouragingly. "That's very reassuring to hear."

Asher hesitated. He considered telling the Master about his brief altercation with the Grimoire Heart-Mage, but then decided to refrain. He had never spoken of his feud with the Dark Guild to anyone before and telling Makarov just now would hardly do much to appease the old man. And Asher did not want his return to the guild to dawn with an argument. As much as he and Fairy Tail's Guild Master disagreed, the silver-haired Mage never ceased to feel comforted by the warm, caring aura that the elderly man emanated, as if by—yes, as if by Magic.

"What's been going about?" Asher asked in lack of a better subject to discuss.

Master Makarov chuckled, as if he suddenly remembered a private joke. "Heh, nothing too splendid. But," he said and held up a finger, "Laxus and Mystogan have left the guild. Though to balance it out, we have received additional firepower."

Astonished, Asher's eyes involuntarily widened. "Laxus?" he repeated incredulously, his mind perking to attention. "_And_ Mystogan? Why would two of Fairy Tail's most powerful mages leave during the course of barely six months? They were still members the last time I visited, weren't they?"

Makarov's smile failed to reach his black eyes. "There was... a dispute between me and Laxus," he answered, his voice slightly strained. "And Mystogan returned to his world, a mirror of our own called Edolas."

The silver-haired Mage frowned but Master Makarov seemed reluctant to divulge any more information. The elderly male was clearly smug regarding Mystogan—a Fairy Tail S-Class Wizard that was just as enigmatic as his name suggested—but he seemed... mournful about his grandchild. Analyzing Makarov's balled hands and the stern set of his jaw, Asher decided not to pry. He didn't want to meddle with family matters anyway.

Asher would miss neither, although Mystogan's secretive nature had, admittedly, always intrigued him. It was a shame he'd never had the chance to talk to the other man. Both of them were known amongst the guild as constantly-on-foot members, whom preferred their identities hidden. Perhaps Asher would have found something in common with the other S-Class Mage.

The news of Laxus' departure—or was it exile? Asher couldn't judge—came frankly only as a relief to the silver-haired Mage. He had worried what would happen should the burly blonde giant ever become the next Guild Master. For Makarov's grandson had been awfully straightforward as to what he considered Asher was, one day when the two had passed each other in the hallway.

"We've got three new members." Makarov's wrinkly countenance took on a genuinely happy expression and Asher shook his head clear from thoughts. "Wendy Marvell, a Sky Dragon Slayer, and her companion, Carla, from Cait Shelter has joined Fairy Tail." He sounded proud, as if he was talking about his own children. Or grandchildren, rather. "The Sky Dragon Grandeeney taught Wendy how to use Support Magic as well as the ability to use Healing Magic. And though nothing alike concerning their personalities, Carla is just like Happy."

_Another Dragon Slayer, _Asher mused. _And this one possesses rejuvenation as well as supporting capabilities. How interesting. _"A talking cat?" was what he said out loud, however.

"Precisely." Master Makarov winked. "They apparently originate from this other world I mentioned earlier and are called 'Exceeds' over there. Also, Pantherlily is another recent member, formerly an Exceed."

Asher folded his arms over his chest. "Mind explaining?" he wondered with a slight raise of his pale brows. "I very barely understand anything."

Makarov waved a dismissive hand. "You've got a clever head on your shoulders; you'll figure. And I only heard second-hand as well. Afraid I don't remember all the details."

"Really?" Asher wondered dubiously, ambiguous as to whether the Guild Master was being lazy or honest.

"I swear on it." Master Makarov grinned, his black eyes suddenly bursting with mirth. "And guess who came back from the dead!"

"Who?" Asher inquired flatly.

"Lisanna."

The silver-haired Mage deadpanned.

"The Strauss' youngest."

Asher rubbed his forehead. "I see. How come?"

"Asher!" Makarov's eyes narrowed and he sounded appalled.

"I do apologize for my lack of mirth," the younger mage said sharply, "but how come someone all of a sudden was restored to life? Not only is true, absolute resurrection impossible; its most successful adaptation exists but in a twisted and corrupt version of the truly sought-after result. And that technique was made prohibited by the Magic Council ever since they first rose to power."

"Certainly," Master Makarov grunted, his balled hands relaxing. "I understand your concern but this has nothing to do with Necromancy. Lisanna was somehow teleported to Edolas when she was dying, where she received care by our counterparts. She found no way of returning until we came over there and... did things." He muttered something inaudible. "Anyhow, she's back now and so are we. Isn't this wonderful to hear? Lisanna never died!"

"Edolas," Asher mumbled, tasting the alien word on his tongue. He ignored the icy glare he received from Makarov and soberly glanced ceiling-ward. "I've never heard of it before."

"Neither had I before we were forcefully dragged into their world."

"How were you extricated?" the silver-haired Mage wondered as he lowered his focus.

Master Makarov shrugged. "The brats did all the work. I was heavily incarcerated. Locked into a 'huge crystalline Lacrima', Natsu told me."

"Dragneel..." Asher transferred his weight from foot to foot. "I reckon it's safe to assume that he was one of those brats that saved you."

Master Makarov grinned. "So you do believe he can be useful?"

"He's impatient," the silver-haired Mage replied sternly. "As if he'd ever just patiently wait for someone to save him."

"You know him better than you pose," stated Makarov with a playful twitch of his brow.

Asher gave the Guild Master a pointed look. The latter shrugged again but said nothing more of it.

"I located a massive source of magic somewhere towards the eastern borders of Magnolia," Asher said, eyes darting out the window. A bolt of lightning cleaved the dark clouds and deafening thunder roared. "It's fairly familiar. Is Gildarts Clive also here?"

Makarov nodded. "Indeed, he is."

Asher wanted to grimace, though he bit back the grim expression. He and mentioned Wizard had never gotten particularly well along. "For the trials, I presume?" he asked as he leveled a cool gaze at his Guild Master.

The elderly Mage hummed something beneath his breath. "Partly, yes. Gildarts... failed his hundred-year quest and was gravely injured. I think he came to Magnolia seeking a short rest in-between journeys, but..." He grinned. "Unfortunately for him, I'm not allowing any of that. Also, this is where you enter the picture."

Asher softly arched an inquisitive eyebrow and wrapped an arm around his ribs. His skin and body was sticky with sluggishly perspiring water; he had forgotten how saturated his clothes and hair was.

"Even though I doubt Gildarts would lose against any of this year's contestants even in his current state," the Master went on, "I want you as a back-up plan if his health somehow would fail. He told me he was alright, but you know how bad a liar he is." Makarov snorted at this, obviously insulted by the fact that the orange-haired Mage had attempted to deceive him.

_Not really, _Asher thought in response. "Master, I'd advice you to reconsider if you think you'll need me to stand by as a substitute for someone as powerful and mighty as Fairy Tail's Ace Wizard. Nobody could beat that man, even if he were on death's bed. He's just too strong."

"Asher," Makarov said solemnly, replicating Asher's action of addressing the other by his title, "I want you with us this year."

"It's just... You've never demanded _my _presence before." The silver-haired Mage wiped some water off his brows. "With the drastic leaving of both Laxus and Mystogan... Figure, you'd need your two other vagabond S-class Wizards. But Scarlet's been pretty close to Magnolia lately, hasn't she? And the eldest Strauss rarely—if ever—leaves the guild bar. Why not pick them as you always do?"

"They are going to attend as well." Makarov twirled his mustache broodingly. "I want all of our remaining S-Class Mages to be present during this year's trial. And since you successfully managed to acquire one of your antique relics, I imagine you have no real reason as to _not _come along. Correct?"

"Correct."

"Good. Though, it wasn't as if I offered you any other options." Master Makarov chuckled.

Asher sighed in resignation, swallowing his retorts. All of his arguments sounded hollow and halfhearted and even if they hadn't been, Asher knew it was about time he contributed to an S-Class Mage Promotion Trial. He hadn't been involved with any of the strenuous ceremonies since his own had taken place several years ago, a luxury granted to him exclusively. And even though the other S-Class Mages might have deemed it unfair, none of them knew the real reason as to why he never partook.

They wouldn't be jealous if he told them the truth.

"What kind of wicked schemes do you have in waiting for this year's selected?" the silver-haired Mage asked flatly. "Nothing too nefarious, I hope. My year was torture."

Master Makarov chuckled devilishly, humor glinting in his black eyes. "I wouldn't have described your trials as torture. More like... challenging feats." He gestured towards one of the two plush armchairs positioned before his desk. "You may want to sit. This will take a while to sort out."

"I noticed," Asher couldn't help but dryly remark, "that you failed to offer this kind of hospitality when I first entered your study."

"You're about as wet as a drenched cat. Not even Mirajane would allow you to sit somewhere even remotely dry. But I'll make an exception for tonight."

Asher gently perched on one of the armchairs and reclined against the backrest. The soft, velvety fabric obediently adapted after his frame and he found himself letting out a silent breath of relief as he sank into the comfortable furniture. Fatigue tugged at his frigid limbs; he had traveled all day and night to arrive at Magnolia as fast as possible. He could use a hot meal. And a tub of steaming water as well.

The silver-haired Mage positioned his elbows on the broad armrests. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his soaked clothes clinging to his cold body, restricting his movements. "Please commence with the description of this year's trials. I wouldn't want to permanently ruin one of your beautiful armchairs."

"You're a witty one when you're up in spirits, aren't you?" Master Makarov leaned his torso sideways and reached toward the floor. Asher heard a drawer being pulled out and after some riffling, the elderly Mage presented a folder to the considerably younger one. "Here's the information about the first trial. Tell me what you think."

After having carefully perused the contents of the yellow folder, Asher returned it to its owner. "Are you sure you want Lockser amongst the participants?" he asked as he leaned back into the armchair. "I remember you telling me about her half a year ago. She's the former Phantom Lord-Wizard, isn't she?"

"Indeed," Makarov replied and took the folder. He dropped it onto the desk and leaned back into his chair, his fingers interweaving as they came to rest in his lap. "But she's shown unquestionable acts of loyalty to our guild and I have faith she'll become an incredibly powerful Mage one day. The trials are a great starting point for such a promising youth."

"Why not put Redfox on the field as well?" Asher wondered and propped his cheek onto his knuckles. "He's got a far more... lively reputation than his comrade."

"I don't want him into the trials yet. Perhaps next year."

Asher considered the Master for a couple of seconds before continuing. "And this... Mest Gryder. Who exactly is he?"

"Mystogan's disciple," Master Makarov said curtly.

Something gnawed at the back of Asher's mind. A faint itch, as tempting as a day or two old queen mosquito bite, filled his senses. Then, he promptly brushed the thought aside and pulled at his necktie, further loosening its hold of his throat. He was feeling a bit short of air, all of a sudden.

"And your plan for the first event was to have a number of paths lined up for all the contestants and their supporting partner," Asher said, "and eventually make them battle either each other or an S-Class Mage at random?"

Makarov nodded and smiled as diabolically as he had when Asher had mentioned his own trial. "I'll of course have you—" He nudged his head toward Asher, indicating he meant to have the silver-haired Mage involved into the category of S-Class Mages, "—take it down a notch and not go all out on the brats, but... don't go too easy on them either. In order for them to know what it means to be one of Fiore's highest-ranking Wizards, they have to experience what it feels like fighting and overpowering one. If they can't even handle that, they don't deserve to move past the first challenge. And if peers compete about the same prize, I promise you that they'll struggle even harder to reach their goal. After all, nobody wants to show themselves worse or inferior to their equals."

"Still, it's all about luck," Asher pointed out. "You've inserted one path where a team may evade all types of combat. Why?"

"Even a sliver of pure luck can take you far in life," Makarov replied with a smile. A friendlier, less amoral version, this time. "If you pin two equally matched foes against each other, luck may be that unique thing that differentiates one from another, thus giving someone the advantage. Good fortune is always a positive attribute to possess, no matter if you're a fighter or a runner. It's important for the youngsters to learn that."

"So, the first challenge is a gamble." Asher readjusted in the armchair. "I've never been particularly adept at that, but I bet no more than three teams will pass. Two from the skirmishes where teams battle each other and one from taking the safe route."

Makarov's white bushy brows skyrocketed. "Are you truly so dubious about this year's list of players? I thought I had chosen very wisely."

"Certainly," Asher answered and, after a slight pause, voiced his brief analyzes. "Justine is undoubtedly very skilled and have much experience handling difficult quests since he's accompanied Laxus for years. I don't know about Lockser but judging by her reputation, I'd deem her a worthy foe. It's the rest that I'm concerned about.

"The Strauss brother, McGarden, Alberona, Fullbuster, Dragneel—" Asher's lips curled at the final name, "—and this... Gryder." Again, an instinct to scratch an invisible itch appeared in Asher's mind. He swallowed and raised his hand to pull at his necktie, only to realize he'd already slackened its hold of his neck. "Or well, it doesn't really matter who I deem is the strongest competitor since you've involved luck into this ordeal as well. But surely, you must have realized how powerful Scarlet, the eldest Strauss and Clive are. Not to mention Scarlet's incredible bullheadedness. She'd rather die at her own blade than let someone pass her."

A depressed look sank into Master Makarov features. _So_, Asher thought, adopting a similar expression, _he _had _contemplated Erza Scarlet's inability to take things easy but then decided to include her anyway._ _Lovely._

"It'll be alright..." Makarov scratched the back of his head. "I hope. I better talk to her."

"I imagine that won't help in the end," Asher said in a sincere tone.

"Then we're two," Master Makarov exhaled and massaged the bridge of his crooked nose. "I'll see what I can do about bringing some advanced medical equipment, but let's pray she won't accidentally kill someone."

"Let's."

Makarov grumbled something imperceptible and briefly touched the spectacles on his head. Making sure they were still there, Asher guessed as he listened to the muffled mutterings. They sounded almost like prayers. He couldn't recall if the elderly Mage was religious, but perhaps regarding Scarlet, Master Makarov _had _to resort to divine methods in an attempt to smother the redhead's violent rampages. The silver-haired mage waited patiently until the guild master roused from his sudden musings before he spoke again.

"This is my conclusion," Asher told Makarov, "and I might be wrong since I'm basing this solely on my knowledge of the participants, but I believe merely three teams will make it to the second phase. My money's on Justine or Lockser, judging by their experience."

"But experience-wise, shouldn't you then also believe in Cana?" Master Makarov asked. "She's practically a veteran at this."

"I didn't sense any particular rise in her magic level last time I was here," Asher replied stoically. "She was simply sprawled across a table drinking straight from a keg again."

Makarov grimaced and clasped his wrinkly hands together. The jutting, dark purple veins winding across the bones and muscles in his hand bulged furthermore at the tension. Something in Master Makarov's black eyes told the silver-haired Mage that his Guild Master disapproved of Cana Alberona's excessive drinking habits. Had they taken a turn for the worse?

Two years ago, Asher had also been swayed by alcohol. Its addictive substance had held so much potential in his mind and he had hoped to cure his yet insatiable Magic cravings by taking up the bottle. He had given up the dangerous hobby after seven or eight months however; he couldn't take the hangover that had constantly haunted him. The aftermath was too obtrusive and in the way, constantly impairing with his usual habits, and his body had eventually pleaded for him to release it of its shackles. And to be frank, Asher had been too scared to continue drinking. The risk of overindulgence was far too great and the consequences, too, should he ever fail to resist the temptation.

"Perhaps..." mumbled Makarov as he stroked his button-like chin with his index finger and thumb. "But no. I think it'll be alright."

"Clive is going to obliterate someone," Asher warned his Guild Master. "Scarlet will chop off a head in your honor. And Strauss' eldest will purge the poor fellow that happens upon her way."

"It doesn't allude me, boy," Makarov said with a deliberately teasing tone, "that you seem unwilling to join into the others' ranks. You're an S-Class mage just as them."

Asher raised a relaxed hand in protest. His wet sleeve clung to his knuckles and revealed the contours of his softly clenched fist. "I appreciate the fact that you deem me in their league, but they're far more powerful than I. And we both know I want nothing to do with the prestigious title; I only sought the tag due to the leniency it offered."

"'The opportunity to track individual quests'," Makarov quoted from the diploma one received as a legitimate proof after succeeding with the trials, "'for as long as it benefits both guild and wizard.'"

The silver-haired mage nodded once.

"Still," grunted Master Makarov, whether it be in annoyance or amusement. "Don't you fear for what will happen should any of the contestants stumble onto you?"

"I didn't plan on participating," Asher admitted, "but were it that I should, I stand sincerely skeptical to believe anyone would slip past me."

Makarov quirked a brow. "Confident, are we?"

"Honest," Asher replied in monotone. "I don't want to fight, if possible. I'd rather help setting things up. Maybe in the cooking, cleaning or—considering Scarlet's presence—paramedics department."

"I've already decided onto your task. You'll work as a replacement, a stand-in, for the rest of the S-Class Mages should anything go wrong. Nothing more, nothing less."

The silver-haired Mage had to resist the urge to let out an exasperated sigh or loud protest. He didn't want to sound like a five-year-old kid who had just been robbed of his favorite toy by an annoyed parent. However, the resemblance was frighteningly similar.

"I—" Asher began although Makarov interrupted him with a firm hand in the air.

"I do not wish to squabble anymore with you," the elderly mage told Asher in a calm voice. "Hopefully, you agree."

Asher pursed his lips. "Of course," he finally uttered.

"Great." Master Makarov smiled. "I've got some calls to make so you may want to take your leave. We can discuss more about the journey tomorrow. I want you back here..." He glanced at his wrist. "In about ten hours. I'll be officially announcing the list of participants then."

The silver-haired Mage stood. "Yes, Master."

"I take it you're still in control," Makarov casually noted when Asher coiled his fingers around the door handle. "You appear and sound better."

Asher's shoulders stiffened and he briefly glanced back toward the elderly mage. Black eyes pierced into his, the dark depths intrusive and worried, and two vertical lines had formed between Makarov's bushy brows. Tendrils of unease stirred from the pit of Asher's stomach and the silver-haired Mage swallowed before answering with a mere, "Yes."

Then, he hurried away, eager to evade Master Makarov's much too knowing gaze.

The vague notion of being watched nibbled at the fringes of Asher's consciousness. He gradually peeled open his crusty eyelids and rubbed his eyes, his weary mind grasping for the boundaries of reality. At distance and from below, he perceived loud arguing and heated debates, both of which failed to pique his interest. It was the repeating boot-to-head survey he received from a blonde girl about his age that caught his attention. Mainly due to the fact that she was standing barely five feet away from him.

Soft, brown eyes framed by dark, curving eyelashes were studying something on his legs. Fully regaining his senses, the silver-haired Mage immediately pressed a sleeve-draped palm to the smooth floorboards and folded his legs beneath him in an effort to smoothly rise. His sudden action caused the girl to flinch, a stark red blossoming across her heart-shaped face, and she stammered a quick apology.

Pearls of sweat dotted Asher's forehead and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. His pulse was fluttering as rapidly as if he had been running and he tried to calm himself by inhaling and exhaling slowly.

_What a terrifying nightmare, _he thought as he swallowed.

"I'm sorry," Asher said as he threw a brief look over his shoulder and eyed the door he until then had been blocking. It was nothing less than a pure miracle that Makarov—or any other bold visitor for that matter—hadn't already slammed open the door and woken him in the rudest manner. "Do you have any inquiries with Master?"

"Y-yes." The blonde girl nervously rubbed the nape of her neck and smiled. She had a pretty smile, Asher acknowledged. One that seemed genuine and free of any kind of worldly concern. "Though, seeing as you managed to fall asleep outside his study, I'm thinking I might have to return later. Is Master really _that_ busy?"

Asher peered out a nearby window and dozy sunlight made his eyes squint. "I reckon so. He's been talking to someone through the Communications Lacrima for more than two hours now."

"Wow.

Asher nodded once. He was still worn and exhausted from travel and wanted nothing more than sleep in an actual bed. The floor and wall of Fairy Tail's Guild House hardly fit as a place to rest properly. His shoulders and bottom ached. However, Asher needed to find out as much as possible about the trip to and stay at Tenrou Island in advance. _He_ didn't want to be the one to suddenly happen across a surprise or accidentally trigger any booby traps Master Makarov potentially had had rigged for the competitors.

And he definitely didn't want to cause some kind of inconvenience to the trials due to his... condition. He'd forgotten to ask about it before.

"By the way... I don't believe we've met before."

The silver-haired Mage returned his focus to the girl. His eyes caught on the belt encircling her waist; large, ornate keys dangled from her right hip as she took a tentative step toward him and stretched out a slender hand.

"I'm Lucy," she said cheerfully and cocked her head to the right. "Lucy Heartfilia. Nice to meet you..."

Asher ignored the girl's fingers and tore his gaze away from her respectable amount of keys. "Asher."

"No surname?" Lucy asked in a teasing tone, her warm, brown eyes glimmering with amusement. She didn't seem offended by his clipped response.

His jaw flexed. "Lancien," he answered after a hesitant pause. "You must be the Celestial Spirit Mage Master spoke of a couple of months ago. Your type is rare."

She raised a hand to touch one of her pigtails. Her gaze averted and she blushed. "I hadn't really thought about it... but I suppose we are."

Asher scrutinized the blonde girl. He stood at least six inches taller than her and although her brown, knee-high boots and short, pleated blue skirt gave her the illusion of being tall, he concluded that she was of about average height. She sported no excessive jewelry or expensive garments but Asher guessed it was more due to a lack of funds rather than a lack of vanity. Her neatly plucked eyebrows, darkened eyelashes, glossy lips, matted skin, sweet, flower-scented perfume and manicured pink nails clearly indicated that she was confident with her looks.

"I... I heard that you, Erza, Gildarts and even Mirajane were going to be part of the Promotion Trials." Lucy gave him a small, encouraging smile. When he remained pointedly quiet, she went on with, "Was it difficult becoming an S-Class Mage?"

"Yes," Asher replied curtly. He had no interest in small talk and deliberately made his response harsh.

"I can only imagine. Can you believe Erza made the trials when she was only fifteen years old?" Lucy asked incredulously, her large eyes remaining locked with his. "When I was fifteen, I barely dared taking the train all by myself." She let out a laugh. It was a melodic, genuine sound. "She's amazing."

"Truly," the silver-haired Mage agreed flatly. She remained smiling at him and he spontaneously added, "But this is Scarlet that we're talking about. She was probably just motivating herself with some sweets; she'd kill a man for a cake."

Lucy laughed again, and for longer this time. Asher couldn't help but notice how she seemed to use her whole body simply for the purpose of laughing. The movement caused her eyes to crinkle by the corners, her right hand to rise in an attempt to cover her gaping mouth, and her torso to lean slightly forward. Her exposed shoulders shook, bumping gently against her blonde pigtails, and she wrapped an arm around her belly.

"Absolutely," Lucy said as she wiped something from her right eye. She grinned up at Asher. "You seem to have known her for long."

"As if you'd need more than five minutes to figure that vice out. I cannot recall how many times I've spotted her—" Asher found himself speaking without thinking and clamped his mouth shut. He frowned at himself and clenched his hands. What was he doing?

"Spotted her do what?" Lucy wondered, her kind eyes searching his face.

"Nothing in particular." He started toward the end of the hallway. "When Master's done, could you tell him I was here? I... I just remembered something I had forgotten to do earlier," he lied. "Something urgent."

"O-Okay!" the blonde girl called after him, before she inhaled. "I'll see you around!"

Her last words were clumsily sputtered, and sounded more like a question than an actual goodbye. Asher hustled down the staircase, his one hand hovering above the path of the wooden railing, and he descended hastily, flying two steps a stride.

_Blathering fool,_ he told himself as he rushed past the bar and Mirajane. The white-haired woman gave him a sweet smile and he waved casually in response. _Why even bother engaging in a conversation? That's not like you._

Exiting the guild house through the massive front doors, instinct suddenly told him to duck. Asher obeyed the notion. Something swooshed above his head in a sweeping motion and as he whirled around, he found himself face to face with a grinning Natsu Dragneel, who stood in a combat-ready position, and the Dragon Slayer's almost ever present companion, who was flying to catch up to his best friend. Asher groaned inwardly and resisted the urge to heave a sigh.

_Dragneel, huh._

"Do you have an extra pair of eyes in your neck or somethin'?" Natsu exclaimed, though in a happy and excited tone. As if the idea of Asher having four eyes instead of two appealed instead of disgusted him. "How did you know I was coming?"

"He could be cat," Happy pointed out, a tiny, blue-furred paw scratching his left whiskers. He wavered above the Fire Dragon Slayer's broad shoulders and sent a brotherly look at Asher. "We always know when someone's 'bout to sneak up on us."

"Really?" Relaxing, Natsu braced his one elbow against the arm he held to his torso and thoughtfully curled his index finger and thumb around the base of his chin. "Never thought of that. But you're right, I've never been able to surprise you. Weird."

Fabricating what he hoped was an unreadable visage, Asher leveled a cool gaze at Natsu. "Dragneel," he said flintily, ignoring the odd pair's feline implications. "You're _always_ lunging at me, whenever you find the opportunity." He gave Happy an equally stony stare.

"Damn right." Natsu grinned crookedly and folded his muscular arms over his chest. He leaned against the stone wall of the enormous edifice and angled one leg behind another. "Is it really true? What the geezer said earlier on stage?"

Two pairs of black, puzzled eyes focused onto him. _So, _thought Asher. _People aren't actually believing the fact that _I'm _supposed to tag along. I can't blame them, even though I probably should feel insulted by their absolute disbelief._

"The astonishing part where _you_ were announced as one of this year's S-Class candidates," Asher suggested, "or more likely, the boring part where he told everyone _I_ was going to participate in the trials?"

"The part about you joining."

Happy giggled mischievously. "Natsu, I think you missed the point."

"What point?!"

"Master spoke the truth," the silver-haired mage begrudgingly admitted with a sigh. "I shall partake in the journey to Tenrou Island as well as... be of aid in the promotion trials."

_If one can call fighting them aid, _Asher dryly remarked.

"Hell yeah!" Natsu triumphantly pumped a fist in the air, veins bulging out of his tanned and battle-hardened knuckles and skin. "I'm glad the old man forced you to string along: I'll finally be able to prove to you how strong I've become! You better be watching me."

His attention fixed onto the first thing Natsu had said. "Is it really that obvious?" Asher muttered as he glanced down at his sleeve-draped hands. He knew he ought not to care about his aloof reputation being smeared by him being part of an event directly concerning the guild and its members, but a piece of his pride of being independent and unbound by guild rules had definitely splintered. It was childish, he knew. But he, too, had a sense of integrity, if ever so slight and misplaced.

"Totally," Happy eagerly supplied.

"Yep," Natsu agreed. "Didn't want to approach you immediately after the announcement since you seemed super-annoyed when you got off stage, but I really need to talk to you."

While speaking, the pink-haired mage's voice had assumed an earnest tone as well as dropped into an uncharacteristically low volume. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Asher silently waited for the Fire Dragon Slayer to continue. Natsu met his wary gaze, touched the back of his head and hesitated once before finally continuing.

"I think I need your help."


End file.
